


Up, Up, and Away

by Elsane



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-02
Updated: 2007-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:35:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsane/pseuds/Elsane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Marauders go marauding.  With airplanes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up, Up, and Away

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to mindabbles for the beta. Ovid as Transfiguration master entered my personal canon via rosemaryandrue.

Remus lounged against the wall, flipping his wand casually through his fingers, and said, "I still think you're insane, you know." His eyes were crinkled at the corners, though, and the side of his mouth tugged up.

James grinned and adjusted his glasses, which he'd transfigured into goggles for the occasion, admittedly more for style than protection. "Your objections have been duly noted for the record, Mr Moony."

"I told you, the theory is perfectly sound." Sirius still sounded annoyed. He'd unaccountably scorned all of James' enthusiasms about Muggle-style pilot headgear, and had instead transfigured his robes into a sort of leather shirt thing, which had made Remus raise a single eyebrow and Peter fall about laughing.

"I know," Remus said, amused. "I even think I believe you. I'm more worried about the bottom falling out."

Peter said, "Come on, Moony, it's going to be brilliant." He bounced on his toes, and James flashed him a grin.

They had spent the better part of a month building the aeroplane out of firewood, charms, and the odd transfigured place setting, smuggled up from dinner. Now they were at last ready to take it out and see if it would fly. The corridors were empty, Remus had passed on a copy of the prefect schedule to plan around, and Slytherin were too busy celebrating their Quidditch triumph over Ravenclaw to be sneaking about in the halls. Really, James couldn't think of anything that could possibly hold them back from triumph.

Besides, he'd nailed the bottom on himself.

"Fear not, Mr Wormtail! Mr Moony here will do his part without fail or hesitation," James said, and snapped Remus a mock salute.

Remus returned it with grave irony. "Ave Caesar! Morituri te salutant," he said, because he was one of those lunatics who thought Latin was an actual language.

James had never seen the point. If you wanted to do something, you just did it, and the wandwork mattered far more than the declension.

"Don't be an idiot, Moony, that's our line. You're obviously Caesar," Sirius said, because he had been born into an entire family of lunatics and had studied dusty grammars since the age of three.

James supposed, though, that Sirius had a point. It was Sirius, after all, who was wedged snugly behind him inside the aeroplane, teetering on the banister, and glory or death belonged properly to the two of them. Meanwhile Peter stood ready to manage concealment and Remus to handle the auxiliary charms and wait, with inhuman sardonicism, for mayhem.

Remus said, "I wouldn't dream of proclaiming myself Caesar, not with you around. Unless you fancy yourself Cato?"

"Not at all. I'm Ovid," Sirius said, sounding very smug. "Innate knack for Transfiguration, don't you know."

James could hear the smirk and feel the lift of the head, and from the roll of Remus's eyes, knew that Sirius did not need to mention all the dirty bits.

"Would you two stop showing off," Peter said, "and let us get on with, you know, _testing the plane_?"

"We are not," Sirius said, "showing off. That would involve actual flashy things coming out of wands. Something that has been shockingly absent from tonight's activities, as it happens." He poked James painfully under the shoulderblade. James jabbed an elbow back into Sirius' ribs.

"Oh, I don't know," Remus said, "I would certainly classify choosing the front banister for our launching pad as showing off."

James grinned and thumped the nose of the aeroplane until its propeller sputtered into motion. "That's not showing off. That's style."

He settled himself more firmly back against Sirius, earning himself a sharp thwack to the back of the head, and tapped his wand to the dashboard.

"Man your stations!" he cried. There was a flurry of motion as Remus and Peter set their charms. James flipped some of the levers, which were not entirely gratuitous, and the dashboard flickered to life under his hands. If he thought about it he could sense all the interlocking layers of charms and runes, the earth and fire of ceramic refigured into wings and struts and propellers, washed with water, invocative of air. Behind him Sirius pulled up the engine charms, and he felt the aeroplane thrum beneath them, felt the familiar stab of excitement as this cobbled-together creature of their own genius pulled together and began to move.

"Now, Moony!" Sirius said, and the aeroplane sat abruptly steadier on the banister as the gyroscopic charms kicked in.

"All systems go!" James called. He was proud of that phrase; it went with the goggles. "Ready for launch, Wormtail."

"Right!" Peter said, and started to undo the tether that held them at the top of the banister.

"Borne aloft on wings of salad plate," Remus said, shaking his head. "Say goodbye while you still can, Peter."

"The _theory_," Sirius said, "is _perfectly sound_\--"

"Oh, shove off," Remus said, smirking, as Peter quite literally shoved them off. The aeroplane wobbled and started down the banister, and before the rush and rattle of motion absorbed all of James' attention, he was vaguely aware of Sirius hexing Remus' hair pink.

It wasn't like flying a broomstick, neither as fast nor as open, and the wind whipping through his hair was, all things considered, tame. On the other hand, no broomstick in the world was capable of dropping bombs. They'd had several arguments about that: Sirius had held out for flame throwers, pointing out quite logically that they couldn't claim to be building a Spitfire unless it was actually capable of spitting fire, but Remus had put his foot down about that one and James had reluctantly concurred. So the aeroplane fired spitballs instead.

"Bombs away!" crowed Sirius, who had picked up a few phrases of his own.

James watched the spitballs splatter in a perfect double line down the stony and self-righteous chest of Edgar Stroulger's statue and pumped his fist in victory. The statue gaped in silent outrage as they wrestled the aeroplane around and wobbled back towards the front hall where Peter and Remus were waiting.

James had a deep yearning to spitbomb Snivellus, who was even crazier than old Stone Stroulger about getting them in trouble, but who was also unfortunately much more ambulatory.

"Have to work on the handling," Sirius shouted breathlessly in his ear.

James shook his head, grinning, and pointed at the symbols running in a slim band just below the ceiling, half-hidden in the moulding. "Look! Runes!"

"Brilliant!" Sirius said, and the aeroplane bobbed as he twisted around to look. "Can we get closer?"

James flipped several levers and then had to duck to avoid smashing his head on the ceiling.

"Shit!" Sirius said as the aeroplane bobbled alarmingly.

James tugged hastily at the charmwork. "Concentrate, y'wanker!"

"McGonagall, y'berk!" Sirius shot back.

"What?"

He poked his head over the rim of the cockpit. To his horror, there indeed was McGonagall, stalking down the hallway between them and the front stairs, her head tipped to the side, her face intent. Their concealment charms had got them around innumerable prefects, at least after the debacle with Hester O'Toole's knickers in second year, but there was no way they'd ever be able to get past McGonagall.

"_Divesto_!" she snapped, flicking her wand out sharply, and James did not need Peter's muffled squeak of dismay to know that they were now completely, horribly, noticeable. Sirius went into an unconvincing coughing fit to cover casting a squeaking jinx on the aeroplane, and James hoped it was enough. He considered making a few squeaky noises himself, to give Peter that much more cover, but McGonagall was staring up at the aeroplane now, her eyebrows lifted in thin arcs of disbelief, and any squeaky noises he might make at this point would be entirely involuntary.

She waved her wand in a brusque circle, and James could not suppress his indignation as the aeroplane drifted calmly to the floor at her feet, overriding every single steering charm they'd woven into the plane.

The aeroplane wing squeaked. McGonagall gave it a considering look, then turned back to them, her eyebrows still raised.

Sirius coughed hopefully.

"Mr Potter. Mr Black." Her wand tapped against against her elbow in a brisk rhythm of exasperation. "I am not going to ask what you are doing out of bed at this hour, as that is transparently obvious. I am also not going to ask whether anyone else was involved in this expedition, as I have no doubt as to your answer, regardless of its veracity. I will not even ask what you think you are wearing, although I must remind you yet again, Mr Black, that Transfiguration of the school uniform is a numbered offense punishable by the loss of three House points." She fixed them with a deflating glare over the rims of her glasses. "I am, however, deeply interested in hearing your explanation of what in the world you think you are doing."

"Well, Professor," James began weakly, while Peter went rat, and Remus melted away. Behind him Sirius only threw back his head and laughed.

James was aware that his explanation was rapidly turning out to involve inadequate charm and rather too much flapping of hands, but he recognized the I-am-impressed-entirely-against-my-better-judgment-Mr-Potter look that McGonagall was giving their aeroplane, and couldn't quite regret the inevitable detentions.

They'd levitate Peter up tomorrow to look at the runes.


End file.
